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May 15, 2007 Back in 1967, I thought it would be a great lark to go hitchhiking around the country with nothing but the clothes on my back. And I did so. However, encountering a little trouble with the police in California, I opted to settle the matter by entering México before the date of my supposed appearance in court. I hitchhiked down to San Diego, but had no luck getting a ride there, and had to walk the 15 miles to Tijuana, crossing the border without a hitch. Out soliciting a ride on the eastbound highway that leads from Tijuana to Mexicali, I was approached by a truckdriver who said he'd take me as far as Mexicali, if I'd help him load his truck with bricks, a chore that took two or three hours. Then we rolled. The driver was a very amiable, sympathetic soul, and hearing my tale, offered to let me stay the night at his place. This was a two-room, dimly-illuminated adobe house where he lived with his wife and a couple of young children. They also fed me, with something like chorizo and refried beans, which I just love in any case. The next morning, I decided to walk out of Mexicali, before starting to beg rides. I was appalled at the incredible poverty along the highway to San Luis. I recall seeing huts made out of beer cans and soda cans, chicken wire and mud. The poor tenants were fruit vendors for the most part, each with a table full of mangos or bananas before his hut. I found that a far greater percentage of Mexican than American drivers are willing to pick up hitchhikers, but that often they are going only short distances. And so it was that day. It took me all day, with about four rides, to get to San Luis, on the Colorado River, just below Yuma, Arizona. This was a hot, dirty, poor, depressing town, a far cry from modern, air-conditioned Yuma. At about sunset, I walked out of town, looking for a place to lie down and sleep. Unfortunately, the soil was dust, very much of the consistency of flour, so that with each step, my foot would sink in an inch or two. By this time in my adventures, I was by no means clean, but lying down in two inches of dust seemed like adding insult to injury. I wondered where I would sleep. Then I got lucky. I found an inner tube for a truck tire, which, flat, was 12 or 15 inches wide, and, torn, stretched out to six or eight feet in a big semicircle. Without a whole lot of other options, I decided to go for it, and I did. I unfurled the tube right in the dust, lay down and slept like a baby till daybreak. The next day, just east of San Luis, I approached customs, and they told me that in no way would they allow me to enter the scorching desert to the east. They stopped a trucker and order him to drop me off in Sonoyta, Sonora, opposite Lukeville, Arizona, to be sent back to the US. The driver was very annoyed with his errand, and just disregarded it completely, thankfully for me. He dropped me off instead in Santa Ana, Sonora, well within México, and thus I was enable to continue my adventures down there for several months. ------------ About the author Thomas Keyes: I have written two books: A SOJOURN IN ASIA (non-fiction) and A TALE OF UNG (fiction), neither published so far. I have studied languages for years and traveled extensively on five continents. Email: udikeyes@yahoo.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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